It strikes me there are a couple different types of redemption at play here. "...in the #MeToo era" implies to me a sort of redemption in public opinion--in other words, given the specific nature of Covenant's most infamous crime (he does commit other more subtle ones, often while trying to make up for what he's previously done) are these books relevant or appealing for new readers in current times, now that #MeToo is a thing? The answer to that depends in part on a reader's opinion of and relationship to #MeToo, of course, and that's a bit large and thorny to get into here. Personally, I am glad that the public conversation about rape, sexual harassment, and abuse has gotten wider, more visible, and more acceptable. I had some experiences back in the day that would have been much easier to heal from had there been a wider, safer forum to talk about them. From what I can tell, #MeToo started out as such a forum, but of course has become much more, some of which is scary in its own way (and some of which is even more beneficial.) Given that, I'm not sure the Chronicles would be as popular if they came out today as they were back in the late 70s/early 80s, not because there's a rape scene--there's a lot of stories out there with far, far worse--but because of how the rapist is presented. It's okay to talk about rape now as long as you're clearly, intensely, and unwaveringly set on punishment for the rapist. Having him be the protagonist, however ambiguous, of a new ten-book series would probably not be welcome in today's climate.
But lucky for us, the series was largely written, published, and widely read years before that climate was even hinted at in mainstream culture. Anyone who reads it for the first time now encounters it as an established classic reflecting views of an earlier time, perhaps broadening the reader's perspective. And of course those of us who've known and loved it for years have a perspective of tolerance, one way or another, depending on how we see the story play out.
It's never seemed to me that Covenant went unpunished, or that Lena's loved ones didn't want, more than almost anything, to punish him in a very direct, ideally lethal way. Triock and Trell both attack him in the course of the story, and only stop short of killing him because someone else prevents them--and they each, in their own ways, suffer greatly from their own perceived failure to avenge the truly horrible wrong. They're prevented because not only does Covenant have the potential to save the Land, but the consequences of vengeance on the avenger are seen as worse than the consequences of failing to avenge. Atiaran stops Triock--and, heartrendingly, herself--because of the Oath of Peace. Also, she seems to hope the Lords will know what to do with Covenant--perhaps she believes them capable of an even more fitting punishment than she, Triock, or Trell could dish out. And iirc Trell is stopped by Hile Troy, who at that point doesn't know what Covenant has done. Had he known, he probably would have helped Trell kill him. So it's not like the other characters approve or don't care what he's done. I don't think Foamfollower ever finds out--iirc, Covenant tries to confess to him, but Foamfollower replies with something like "the heart keeps secrets not worth the keeping" and asks about something else. The Lords eventually find out, I think, from Elena, which might give them a more tolerant perspective. They're more concerned about how he will use his power than they are with vengeance; they can see that the pain of his own inner conflict and self-judgment is a far greater penalty than any they could inflict, and they know how much rides on the outcome of that conflict.
I've talked elsewhere about how identification with Covenant's pain was what drew me in to this story, and about why the rape scene didn't make me back off on first reading. But the question of his redemption is what made these books
necessary to me. And of course on some level it's also the entire point of the story, which can be read as the playing out of one man's moral conflict and change as the plot of a fantasy novel--wonderfully weird as that is.
Re-reading the books several times over the years, at various points on my own journey(s) from victim to victimizer to survivor, it's been extremely valuable to read a story that assumes a rapist can be redeemed--that he is human. A point I rarely hear discussed: when such a large number of victims suffer rape, abuse, and harassment, that means a similarly large number of victimizers are perpetrating rape, abuse and harassment. And that's not even counting all the "metaphorical rape" going on. Do we just write all those perpetrators off as inhuman monsters? What if they're someone we know?
Of course, some of them are monsters. There actually are serial rapists, who behave as true predators and feel no remorse. Unfortunately that's not just in fiction, and not metaphorical. That's only a small percentage, though. Like other violent crimes, more often the victim and perpetrator know each other in some way; the perpetrator may or may not have a known history of violence. I don't know the statistics, but it seems to me a fair number of real-world rapes may be opportunistic and committed by someone in a great deal of pain; someone who first denies, then regrets it. Maybe they justifiably torment themselves, to the point where it leads to other crimes--which lead to more cycles of guilt and self-torment. Like Covenant.
This doesn't excuse it. Nothing can. But it does raise the possibility, difficult as it is to say, that the rapist as well as the victim has a story. To deny that is to stay stuck in the desire for vengeance--which is one way a victim becomes a victimizer. I have personally found that acknowledging the humanity of someone who has hurt me is far more important than forgiving them. It's necessary if I am to grow from victim to survivor--if I am to survive. In reading Covenant's story, we acknowledge his humanity, raising the possibility of doing so in the real world as well. I may never know, and often don't want to know, the story of someone who's hurt me. I may even hope that they never find peace, never find redemption. But the Chronicles are, among other things, an examination of the process of redemption, beginning with the premise that it's never a sure thing.
So: is Covenant redeemable?
In my opinion, through the length of the story he's as redeemed as he lets himself be. In the First Chronicles, he starts out suicidal (even before he rapes Lena) and ends up smiling because he's alive. He goes from victim to victimizer to survivor (and/or rescuer.) In Second Chronicles he learns to love (both Linden and the Land) and to make the sacrifices that requires. Last Chronicles focuses more on Linden's development, but we see Covenant make a different, more mature sacrifice--instead of dying to save the Land, he chooses to live every day, every moment in such a way as to save it over and over again. In the epilogue, we see him essentially entering paradise (in his own way, of course.) What he had lost at the beginning (summed up and symbolized by
having a family) is restored to him. Is he free from self-doubt? Of course not. Is he ever going to be completely free from emotional pain? Not while he's carrying Foul around inside him. He'll never forget what he did wrong. But he can also recall getting a few things more or less right. And he's finally able to laugh.
"Books break the shackles of time. A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic."
--Carl Sagan
"In that moment the earth made no sound
But you were there
You helped me lift my pain into the air"
--Remy Zero
"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." --Groucho Marx, attributed
I think the eye of the paradox just winked at me...
... as much as it was a rape in fact ... it was as horrifying to TC as it was to the reader. He did not possess the requisite cognisance for the crime AT THE TIME. 
